


Couples Counselling

by Amalveor



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fusco being Fusco, Gen, Therapy, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25688914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amalveor/pseuds/Amalveor
Summary: When their new number turns out to be a relationship counsellor, the easiest way to get eyes and ears on him is to book an appointment. Fusco isn't sure why he has to be involved in this, but apparently he does...This was started years ago for a prompt over at the kinkmeme which asked for Reese and Fusco undercover at relationship counselling. I thought it was just daft enough to deserve finishing.
Relationships: Lionel Fusco & John Reese, Lionel Fusco/John Reese
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	Couples Counselling

"It's alright for you, Mr Mysterious. What are people gonna think if they see me walk into that office?"

"They'll think you're punching above your weight, Lionel."

That much was true. With his thousand dollar suit and those cheekbones, Reese would have been so far out of his league it was kind of funny. 

"Can't Glasses help you out on this one?"

"I'm here, Detective," Finch's voice sounded over the earpiece Reese had given him, "and I'm much more useful out of the field on this particular occasion.” Poor guy sounded like he'd eaten a ton of sandpaper that hadn't agreed with him. Either he was really sick or he was trying to do his best impression of Wonderboy. 

"Jeez, you sound like crap."

He could practically hear Finch raise an eyebrow back at him. "If that was meant to be a concerned enquiry into my health, Detective,” he sniffed, "then I assure you I'm fine."

"Yeah yeah, I'll bring you a bunch of grapes later. Now can you tell your friend here that this is a bad idea?"

Reese stared into to the air, as if pretending he could hear neither of them, and Finch just started talking. Because of course neither of them cared how Fusco felt about it. "The man we need more information on is a Mr Morgan,” he continued. "As he practically lives at his office the most sensible way seemed to be to get an appointment. His services are over subscribed, but you sounded so concerned when you contacted him that Mr Morgan arranged to extend his schedule to fit you in."

Great, so not only did he have to go along with this thing, he had to pretend he was _concerned_ about something. “Okay, fine, I get the appointment thing. But why not Shaw? Coco-Puffs?"

"Mr Morgan specialises in therapy for gay couples."

“Yeah, perfect. Send them together."

"There is another counsellor who deals with relationships between women. They appear to hold the debatable belief that such relationships are distinctly different." Finch certainly sounded like he would have been quick to debate that point. It was one of the things Fusco liked about him; he thought all people were essentially the same. Not in a psychopath way, he just thought everyone was _worth_ the same. Even corrupt cops who'd tried to kill their partners. "Your appointment is in two minutes."

"Right." He looked down at himself. There was a stain on his tie from lunch and he'd bet his entire suit cost less than just about any single piece of clothing Reese was wearing. 

Reese took Fusco's arm in a style that was far more 'hostage situation’ than 'stroll with a loving partner' and started to move them toward the building.

"Hey, don't we need to know our covers?"

“The appointment was booked under the name Lionel Covino,” Finch answered.

“I’m using my real name for this? Because there aren’t that many Lionels walking around New York, you know."

“There’ll be one less,” John said, close to his ear, "if you don’t stop complaining and-"

“You threatening me now? Because that’s the first thing I’m gonna tell this guy!" 

“Mr Reese is John Anderson,” Finch said, raising his voice to talk over them. "As for the details of your relationship, a first appointment will probably involve very little information. Your counsellor will see you as normal clients and have no reason to be suspicious. I would advise you stay as near to the truth as possible. I will be on hand to ensure you stay consistent."

“It’s just an hour,” Reese said. He had his usual dark stare on but Fusco got the impression that deep beneath that smug Special Forces poker face, he was trying not to grin. "We just need to keep him talking long enough to bluejack his phone and bug the office. You can manage that, can’t you, Lionel?"

Resigned, he relaxed his arm and let Reese lead him in.

The office was small and untidy. Fusco wasn’t a stranger to relationship counselling, not that he would have given Reese the satisfaction of letting him know that. The place he’d been at before, though, had been large and clinical. There had been one of those scented pots on a side table, the kind with the sticks in that spread the smell of chemicals into the air. When Fusco thought about the end of his relationship, he could still smell the smell of that room. 

This place was the complete opposite. It looked like the guy had broken up with his own wife and moved in, along with all the crap he owned. Husband, he corrected himself, broken up with his husband.

Wait- were he and Reese married or just together? Shit. That’s exactly why you established cover identities. They had different names, he knew that much, but he didn’t think that meant a whole lot.

The shrink was a little guy who seemed to disappear into the background even as he introduced himself. His first name was Saul and he talked as he poured them glasses of water, something about his training or his qualifications. It washed over Fusco, which seemed to be the point. It was just something to say to ease them in to being there. 

“So,” Saul said, settling himself down on a chair at the other side of a small desk. There hadn’t been any desks in the other place either- some crap about ‘barriers’ or something. “Why are we all here today?"

Reese sat back a little in his seat and looked questioningly at Fusco, apparently waiting for him to answer. 

Fusco sure as hell wasn’t going to be helpful if Reese wasn’t. “Yeah,” he said, “why _are_ we here?” 

Reese shrugged. “You called the guy.” He had added just a touch of the expression you make straight after stubbing your toe to his usual brooding glower. Exactly what that was meant to show, Fusco didn’t have the first clue, but it was pretty damn irritating.

“And I did that all by myself did I?” Fusco asked, passing the ball again. “Because I seem to recall telling you exactly why we were coming here."

“One of the most common reasons for a couple to seek mediation is a break down in communication,” Finch said at the same time as Saul the shrink asked, “do you ever find it difficult to talk to each other?"

“Remember,” Finch said, “stick close to the truth and-"

“No,” Reese said as Fusco said, “Yeah."

"-maintain consistency.” Finch finished, a second too late. 

Fusco looked across at John, who avoided his gaze.

“It depends what you mean by talk to each other,” Reese said. “We talk a lot.”

“What kind of things do you talk about?” Saul asked, “say, on an average day?” His voice was all quiet background noise, with just enough earnest interest in it to feel like he really cared. The guy was good. Hell, maybe Fusco would have had a few less shouting matches with his ex if they’d seen someone like this.

“Yeah okay, we talk a lot,” Fusco said, “but it’s never ‘How you doing today, Lionel?’ it’s always ‘I need you to do this for me, Lionel.’"

Reese had the audacity to look genuinely offended. “I ask how you are all the time."

"Yeah? Since when? You don't even ask what I'm doing half the time. You just phone and then you expect me to do something. Like I'm meant to be ready and waiting for you all day. Like I don't have a job of my own to do."

"If you were busy, Lionel," he said, in that sing-song sweet voice Fusco heard him use with perps all the time, "you could just tell me."

"Right. Because you're so respectful of my personal time that you never try and contact me when I've turned my phone off?"

"Tread carefully, detective," Finch said, "we don't want to give him an indication of anything beyond-"

"And you know what," Fusco carried on, ignoring the voice in his ear, because, what the hell. He was here and damned if he was going to let the opportunity pass to complain when they had to listen to him. "You never tell me anything. You never let me in on any of the important stuff. I don’t know half of what you do. It's just, 'Come and help with this Lionel, don't worry your pretty head about what it all means, Lionel'. All this time, all the things I've done for you. I deserve for you to let me in a little!”

"It sounds like what I'm hearing here is that there are different expectations of what this relationship provides." Saul said, and his voice cut off the protest that Fusco could see in Reese's expression. "Relationships are built around a process of give and take, but we need to know what it is that our partner wants, and what it is that they don't want so that we can give it and take what we need. This is something we can focus on going forward."

He made a note on the pad in front of him and Reese gave Fusco a dark sideways look while his attention was averted. Fusco smiled back at him. Hadn't been his choice to be here.

"John," Saul said, turning that quiet expectant gaze on Reese, "perhaps you could tell us a little about what communication means to you in a relationship?"

Well _this_ would be good. 

Beside him, Reese looked suddenly like a normal person might if you pulled a gun on them: totally still and like there was a good chance they might shit their pants at any moment. Or rather, he looked like he always did- stupid stony poker face- but his eyes, his eyes said he was about ready to shit his pants. 

"Tell him you don't find it as easy to communicate," Finch said, coming to his rescue, "but that you understand the importance of it and you're willing to try and improve."

Fusco wasn't letting him get away with it that easily. “You see this?" he told Saul, "This is what I have to deal with. Can you imagine this every day? In two years I’ve seen him make exactly three facial expressions."

That made Reese react. “You think I don’t have to put up with a lot?" he said. "The constant complaining. The-"

"Because you phone me out of the blue and expect me to do things for you without explaining what-" 

The shrill sound of an alarm cut off the end of the sentence. 

"I'm so sorry," Saul half shouted over the sound, "burglar alarm. Someone must have set it. Just- let me- won't be a moment."

He hurried out the door and, not missing a beat, Reese pulled his phone from his pocket along with a plastic packet that he threw at Fusco. The bugs. 

"Assuming that was you, Harold," Reese said. His voice was too quiet over the din of the alarm to hear across the room, but it came clear enough through the earpiece.

"It seemed the most expedient solution. I apologise for taking so long."

Fusco snorted. "It took you fifteen minutes to hack an alarm and you're apologising? Where do you want these?" He held up one of the bugs.

"Under usual circumstances I'd be through a small scale system like that in under 30 seconds, Detective." He sounded genuinely offended. Maybe Fusco would have to buy him that bunch of grapes after all.

Nobody was telling him where to put the bugs because, as per usual, they'd expect him to do the thing and then complain it was wrong afterwards. He shrugged and shoved one under the desk, holding it til the self-adhesive on the back took hold, and dropped the other into a plant pot. 

"All done, Finch," Reese said, watching Fusco inscrutably.

"Oh dear," came the immediate reply. "It would appear Mr Morgan is in need of his own services. He's received a series of threatening text messages from his ex-husband and his new partner seems to be none too happy about it."

"Jeez, poor guy. You think one of them's going to try and kill him?"

"Or _both_." Reese sounded a little too pleased at the idea for Fusco's liking, but before he could complain he was pulling Fusco by the arm. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"We're just gonna leave?"

The alarm was still blaring around them but it didn't feel right to just walk out without saying anything. 

"You wanna stay and fix our problems, Lionel?"

"Whatever," he said, getting up, "I'm just disappointed we're going before I got him started on our sex life."

Reese gave him a hard shove towards the door and over the earpiece, Fusco would have sworn he'd heard a bark of laughter from Finch before it dissolved into coughs.


End file.
